


A Secret Shared

by PockySquirrel



Category: Samurai Sentai Shinkenger
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Femdom, I Don't Even Know, Oral Sex, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 16:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15822222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PockySquirrel/pseuds/PockySquirrel
Summary: A clandestine affair, a Lord's willing submission, and the inappropriate use of Mojikara.





	A Secret Shared

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSecondBatgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSecondBatgirl/gifts).



> ONLY FOR YOU, BATS. ONLY FOR YOU. 
> 
> I have literally never posted smut before. Guess I'll wander off somewhere and quietly die of embarrassment now.

The hour was late when Mako slipped into Takeru’s room, careful to slide the door shut as softly as she could behind her. Shinken Red, in his nightclothes, was perched on his futon in exactly the same position he took at his seat in the manor’s main hall; legs neatly folded, back straight. There was a book in his lap, one of the yellowed but well-kept volumes out of the Shiba family’s library. He raised his head when she entered; she gave a quick, respectful bow but did not kneel.

“Were you seen?” he asked, cautious to the last. 

She shook her head. She had no more desire to face scolding from Hikoma or nosy questions from her teammates than Takeru did, and she had been careful. Of course, one could never be completely sure about the Kuroko - even Takeru wasn't successful in avoiding them 100% of the time - but they had done this a few times before, and had reached the conclusion that the Kuroko were indicating silent approval of their relationship by failing to alert Hikoma to it. 

“I would have turned back if anyone saw me,” Mako said. Takeru knew that, of course, but they had this conversation every time regardless. One could never be too careful. 

Takeru marked his place in the book, set it carefully out of the way, and got to his feet. “Shall we begin, then?”

“You’re certain this is what you want?” Mako knew the answer before asking, but she did anyway. It was important to her, to hear Takeru’s consent before starting. And by now, it was just as much a part of this little ritual that started their nights together as any of the rest of it.

“Yes.”

Sure enough, there was no hesitation on Takeru’s part. And although he kept his voice even - Lord Shiba to the last, until the very second she would take that role from him - Mako knew him well enough to hear the breathlessness that he was trying to mask. Maybe even a hint of desperation. He wanted it badly tonight, it seemed, more so than usual. Mako wasn’t surprised. She’d seen it in him all day; the tension in his shoulders, the restlessness in his eyes when he glanced her way. And now that his waiting was over, he was eager to start. All he needed was her cue, so she gave it.

“Takeru,” she greeted him, and it still felt transgressive to say his name like that, without any of the usual titles.

At that, Takeru lowered his gaze to the floor and in a single, fluid motion dropped to one knee in front of her, mirroring the posture she and the other Shinkengers so often took in deference to him. She took in the sight: Shinken Red, her lord and leader, kneeling at her feet.

“Shiraishi-sama,” he replied, reverent. 

“Stand,” Mako commanded, and he obeyed.

“Tonight,” she continued. “You are not to touch me in any way that I do not specifically order you to. Understood?”

“I understand, Shiraishi-sama,” came the quick reply. 

Mako nodded her approval. Half the time, she’d only get a ‘yes’ out of him, or he’d forget the honorific, either accidentally or because he wanted to be punished. But he followed the rules to the letter this time, no games. She’d been right, then, in her earlier efforts to suss out Takeru’s mood under Lord Shiba’s mask. 

“Good, Takeru. Your manners are improving. Now - you will undress me first, and then yourself. And be neat about it.”

“Yes, Shiraishi-sama.” 

Takeru started stripping Mako of her clothing, handling her with as much care as one of Hikoma’s priceless antiques. She hadn’t gotten dressed for bed yet, and although he didn’t dare say anything about it, she guessed he was mentally cursing her tendency to dress in layers. The sweater came off first, he folded it perfectly and set it aside. The blouse underneath went next, folded as well, and placed on top of the sweater. Then her jeans, then her socks, both with no effort on her part beyond the assistance of lifting each foot in turn. By the time he stepped behind her to unclasp her bra, his hands were trembling. Takeru wasn’t an impatient man, but as Lord Shiba he was accustomed to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. And Mako dearly enjoyed making him wait.

With a delicate touch, lest he risk disobeying Mako’s earlier order, Takeru slid the bra down Mako’s arms and off. He turned to put it with the rest of her clothes but stopped short and looked down at the garment almost curiously, turning it over in his hands. Mako had to stop herself from laughing when she realized what was going on. Takeru barely knew how to fold his own clothing - the Kuroko always did it for him - but the process of folding a shirt or a pair of jeans was at least somewhat intuitive. Folding a bra, however, or even if bras could or should be folded, was completely beyond Takeru’s realm of understanding. This was going to be good.

On another night, perhaps, he might have just dropped the bra with the rest of it and let her scold him for it. But tonight, it seemed he was making a greater than usual effort to please her. And so she watched him fumble with the offending undergarment until he had it sort of wrapped around itself and apparently decided that was good enough. She toyed with the idea of making him do it over again, but found his efforts so amusing that she decided to go easy on him, just this once. 

That left Mako standing in her panties, until Takeru removed those as well, and for the first time since the scene had started, his resolve slipped. He tucked his fingers under the elastic waistband and slid them down, past the swell of her hips until gravity took over and they dropped to the floor. But Takeru’s hand was still there, lingering seconds longer than it was supposed to, cupping the curve of her backside and almost but not quite squeezing. She caught him by the wrist, lifted his arm, and delivered a sharp slap to the back of the offending hand. Contrite, Takeru retreated a step away from her, knelt, and waited.

“Have you forgotten my directions, Takeru?” Mako asked, her tone stern.

Takeru’s eyes remained fixed on the floor. “No, Shiraishi-sama.”

“But you disobeyed me anyway.”

“I...yes, Shiraishi-sama.”

Mako sighed and shook her head. “Fortunately for you, I’m feeling generous. Consider this your one warning. Keep control of your hands, or I’ll bind them. Understood?”

Her sharp hearing caught the hitch in Takeru’s breathing, the choked-off sound he still had enough control of himself to stifle. Interesting. She set that bit of information off to the side of her thoughts for the moment; it would be worth further attention later on. 

“I understand, Shiraishi-sama. Thank you, Shiraishi-sama.” 

Takeru’s words came out in a tumble, a far cry from his usually careful and precise speech. It was cute, and Mako couldn’t help but smile a little, though she was sure to school her expression before allowing Takeru to look up again.

“Continue, then,” she ordered.

Takeru picked up where he left off, first taking Mako’s underwear from the floor and dutifully taking them over to sit neatly with the rest of her clothes. Mako went to sit on his futon and watched him as he then started to undress. He removed his own clothes much more quickly than he had removed hers, in part because he didn’t have to be as careful, in part because he just wasn’t wearing as much, and in part because his patience was starting to wear thin. He also tried to get away with leaving his pajamas in a pile without folding them, and the tight, frustrated little groan that sounded from deep in his throat when she made him go back and tidy them up was music to Mako’s ears.

When he had finally finished the task to her satisfaction, Takeru knelt, stark naked, and awaited further instructions. Mako looked him over. The evidence of his arousal hung prominently between his legs. 

“Come here,” she said. 

Takeru got up and joined her on the futon, but stayed sitting at the edge and made no move to get closer to her until he was told. Mako leaned back, her head propped up on Takeru’s pillow, and spread her legs. 

“Use your mouth on me. You may do so in any way you see fit. You may not use your hands.”

The obligatory response, “Yes, Shiraishi-sama,” was quick and quiet, and then he was up the length of the bed and on her in a flash. 

Mako’s breath leached out of her lungs in a long, slow sigh at the first touch of his tongue. Oh, but he was good at this. Exquisitely, unfairly good. He had been right from the start, so much so that Mako might have doubted that she really was his first, had she not understood that he was applying himself to pleasuring her with the same care and diligence he applied to everything else he did. He was an inexperienced lover, but an observant and attentive one, and in short order he had learned how to work her body like a master musician plays his instrument.

She was so caught up in her enjoyment of him, swept away in the tide of sensations Takeru was evoking with his lips and tongue, that she almost didn't notice his error. Almost. But there it was, the faint and familiar friction of Takeru’s sword-calloused hand. Stroking the delicate skin of her thigh, almost petting her. A lovely augmentation to what his mouth was doing, but against the rules nonetheless. Takeru was so focused on worshipping her body that he might not have even noticed his own transgression, and Mako mentally lamented having to interrupt him. But rules were rules, and Mako also knew how disappointed Takeru would be if she let him get away with anything. 

So she allowed his disobedience for only as long as it took to slip her hand under Takeru’s pillow and retrieve his Shodophone. By necessity, he was fiercely protective of the device and anyone else, under any other circumstances, who dared to attempt such a thing would have ended up on the floor or worse. But it spoke to the depth of Takeru's trust in Mako, and the single-mindedness with which he pursued pleasing her, that she was able to manage it. This was not lost on her, of course, and the gravity of it almost made her reconsider her course of action.

Almost. 

She focused her power as she had been trained since childhood to do, fixed the image of what she wanted in her mind, and discreetly drew the brushstrokes. And if the kanji came out a bit shakier-looking than usual as Takeru’s ministrations left her hands trembling, it proved no less effective.

In a flash of light, Takeru found himself bound in a length of soft, silken, elaborately knotted pink rope. The cord circled his chest and ribs like a harness, to which his hands were bound neatly and comfortably in front of him. Having been propped up on an elbow when this occurred, Takeru found himself without any means of balance and toppled gracelessly to one side, head landing pillowed on Mako’s thigh. He let out a small, undignified yelp of surprise as he fell. Adorable, Mako thought, and sat up to survey her handiwork. 

Her satisfied smirk faded as she took stock of Takeru's reaction. He was still, as if frozen in place, eyes wide, pupils blown. The flush in his face was rapidly spreading down his neck to his chest, almost as pink as the bonds that held him. She touched his wrist gently, ascertaining that they weren't too tight, and felt his pulse racing under her fingertips. She frowned, and tilted his chin up to look him directly in the eyes.

“Takeru,” she said, gently and evenly. “Your safe word?”

Takeru blinked and refocused his eyes on hers. It took him a second to find his words, and when he spoke, his voice was soft and distant, but certain.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Mako pressed, Shodophone at the ready.

“I'm fine,” Takeru insisted. “This is…” 

He paused momentarily, at a loss for words, finally giving up and settling on, “...This is good. Very good.”

Taking him at his word, Mako set down the Shodophone, placing it out of the way but within reach. 

“Shall we continue, then?”

Takeru nodded, blushing furiously. Smiling fondly at him, Mako reached down and ruffled his hair. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

Mako carefully extricated herself from where Takeru had half landed on her, stood and repositioned him to lay comfortably on his back. She paused again, admiring how he looked this way, on display and helpless, before climbing back onto the bed. 

“Time to finish what you started,” she said.

She savored the soft, desperate noise she heard from Takeru as she sat on his face.

That sound was quickly followed by one of her own; she bit her lip to keep from moaning too loudly as Takeru picked up where he left off. He was being far less gentle than usual, hungrier, and after the delay she had no inclination to change that. Allowing him to tease her for hours could wait for another night. He brought her to completion swiftly, leaving her gasping and shuddering, bracing herself against the wall to keep her balance as she went lightheaded.  
Once her pulse started to slow and she could trust her legs not to give out, she moved down to lay at Takeru's side. She thanked him with a kiss, tasting herself on his lips. She traced the ropes with her fingertips, noting how tense he felt, how he quivered under the light touch. It was the most she had touched him all night. 

“I could leave you this way, you disobedient thing,” she mused.

He whimpered in response. 

“Fortunately for you,” she continued. “I enjoyed myself enough to be merciful, and I think you've earned a reward.”

There was supposed to be a reply there, a formal thank you with the honorific. There wasn't. Mako chose to ignore that. She wasn't sure Takeru was even capable of formality at the moment. 

She didn't untie him. She retrieved a condom from their usual hiding place, opened it and put it on him, shushing him when he vocalized his satisfaction at finally being touched. 

“Shh. Do I need to gag you as well?”

Takeru shook his head and kept quiet.

She straddled his hips, lined him up, and sank down onto him, and to his credit, he stayed quiet, although she watched his eyes flutter shut and his mouth fall open on what she imagined would have been a sob of relief. It was always wonderful to see him come apart this way, and she wished she could have heard it as well. One day, she promised herself, when true privacy wasn't a luxury out of their reach, she'd savor every sound she could wring out of him.

Takeru wasn't going to last long, and that was fine with both of them. He was typically far gone enough by this point that drawing things out any further would have been tortuous to him, and being tied up seemed to only have added a harder edge to his desperation. As patient as he was in seeing to Mako’s pleasure, he wanted the opposite in seeking his own. She rode him hard, fast, and relentless, compensating for his hindered ability to thrust back. She watched him turn his wrists, flex the muscles in his forearms as he pulled against the cords, longing to grab her by the hips and drive into her. She watched the tension in him build until it snapped, heard him choke off his own instinctive cry as he released, felt him collapse bonelessly into the mattress under her. 

She stayed where she was for a long moment, listening to him catch his breath, and everything felt so still that she wished she could stop time and preserve this forever.  
She leaned down and kissed him. Dismounted. Disposed of the condom. Untied him by hand. 

“What do you need?” she asked. 

“Stay with me. Just for a little while,” he replied, his voice hoarse. 

She nodded and got back into the bed, pulling a blanket up over both of them.

Takeru curled into her side and Mako ached for what they couldn't have. She felt honored by his trust, privileged to share this secret with him, to be the one he allowed to take care of him so intimately. But it wasn't enough. Takeru deserved more, she thought. A real relationship. A life outside the fighting. Sometimes it seemed to her like he didn't think he'd live long enough to see peace. And maybe he was right. But she prayed that he wasn't, and that someday he would allow himself to rely on her outside these walls.


End file.
